


A Thief's Eyes

by Sandmans_Raven



Series: A Thief's Eyes [1]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Parallel Universes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28784175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandmans_Raven/pseuds/Sandmans_Raven
Summary: After a hard break-up with his team and the woman he loves, Gambit goes on a bender, drinking, sleeping around, and gambling, only to find that he has bargained with something he can't afford to lose.
Relationships: Remy LeBeau/Rogue
Series: A Thief's Eyes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2110353
Comments: 15
Kudos: 27





	1. The Wager

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Gambit-centric story I've been wanting to do for a while. At this point, it doesn't really make sense with current continuity but I still really like this story. Try not to think about the continuity too hard; I haven't. Basically, it takes place somewhere between M-Day and Messiah Complex. But it's all loose.

The cold, Antarctic air slowly began to freeze his skin, making it feel like hot pins were jabbing his entire torso. He was alone now, abandoned here to die a slow, cold death as the sun slowly sank over the horizon. The worst part wasn’t that he was going to die nor was it that it was his “true love” that had abandoned him. The worst part was that he couldn’t really blame her for doing it.

With a start, Remy opened his eyes and saw he was not in Antarctica. That was so long ago he silently chastised himself for believing he was. 

His heart beat like a drum in his head, which ached from a night of whiskey and gambling. He rolled over to his side to check the clock next to his bed but found he wasn’t in his bed. He wasn’t in a bed at all. From the cold slab of concrete underneath him, it quickly became obvious that Remy hadn’t made it home the previous night.

With a groan, Remy picked himself up off of the floor and checked his surroundings. Between the dark and the mustiness of the air, he could tell he was underground. A cellar, perhaps? Someone’s basement? He wasn’t bound, but when he checked his pockets, he found he had been stripped of all but his pants.

None of the walls contained a door, just the same smooth concrete of the floor. When he looked up, he saw floorboards about three feet above him. And in the middle of the ceiling hung a square hatch made of wood.

“So, cellar it is,” Remy said to himself. He studied the door, trying to make sense of where he was and how he ended up here. There was a lot of booze involved, but that had been the story of Remy’s life for the past week. Or was it two weeks?

The floorboards were supported by a series of joints spaced out a foot between one another, creating a frame for the door. The door opened from above, but there was no ladder or step-stool up to it. Leaping up to the ceiling, he grabbed onto the supports and swung his legs up into the hatch, hoping to kick it open.

The door didn’t budge. Instead, his feet made a loud WHAP and he fell back down to the floor.

“Merde,” he said, clutching his right foot.

The sound, however, seemed to stir whoever was up above. Remy could just barely hear a pair of voices through the floor.

“Was that him?” one of the voices said.

“Who else could it be?” another said.

Remy backed away from the door as he heard footsteps grow nearer. There was the sound of metal sliding, which he took note of, and then the door popped open, creating a beam of white light that shined down onto the dusty floor.

“You awake down there, LeBeau?” a voice said. Remy didn’t recognize it. “There’s no point in hiding. Either you say something and we get this over with or we close this door and try again tomorrow.”

With no other options, Remy shuffled forward. “Oui, I’m awake. The question is, who put me down here?”

One of the men snickered and whispered to his friend, “The fool doesn’t even know where he is.”

“We’re gonna lower a ladder,” the other said. “You come up and don’t try anything funny or we have permission from Ms. Silver to shoot you down. Got it?”

Silver. Why did that name sound so familiar? A blurry image flashed in his head of a poker game. There were some familiar faces and there were some that were less familiar. Remy had a feeling Silver was the latter. But still, he couldn’t shake the weight of the name.

“Oui,” Remy finally said.

With that, a metal folding ladder appeared and descended into the darkness. Remy grabbed it and pulled himself up into what looked like the common room of a small cabin. The two men standing over him were both large and thuggish, each in black suits that clashed with the general rustic nature of the cabin. To their word, they each held pistols, trained on him.

“Quite the bed an’ breakfast you got here,” Remy said. “‘Cept I slept on the floor and I don’ smell any bacon.”

One of the men, a bald man with a tattoo that crept up his neck, motioned to a circular table in the kitchen area with two chairs flanking each side. Remy took the hint and sat at the table, digging through the recesses of his mind to figure out where he was and why he was here.

He was in New York. There had been drinking and women, lots of both. He got into a couple of tussles, none of which he couldn’t handle but ones that could have been easily avoided if he’d had a clearer head and less baggage to deal with. 

And then there was a game. That was it. The game. It was a simple poker game with a high buy-in and high wagers.

The other guard, large like his friend but with a crew cut, pulled a phone from his jacket and made a call. “He’s here.”

After a moment, a door opened in the kitchen. This door hadn’t been there originally. In fact, it seemed to appear out of thin air but Remy didn’t even see it appear. It was as if it had always been there, even if he knew it couldn’t be true.

The woman who stepped through was Silver. Remy recognized her in her white three-piece suit, circular sunglasses, and grin that made him feel as if he wasn't in on whatever joke she had told.

“Remy, my boy,” she said, taking a seat across from him. Her voice was smooth, like water running over silk. “You’re awake! I was wondering how long you’d be out. You were a mess last night.”

“I’d feel a lot better if I knew where I was,” he said. “Or if I could at least get my stuff back.”

Silver clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Oh, dear. You were even in worse shape than I thought. Almost makes me feel bad for letting you wager what you did.”

Remy’s eyes narrowed. “What’d I wager, exactly?”

The woman reached into her coat and produced a pack of cigarettes. She offered one to Remy and then put it back into her coat without taking one for herself. She struck a match—where she had produced that from, Remy had no clue—and settled back in her chair, putting her feet up on the table.

“Remy, when was the last time you saw that old flame of yours, Rogue?” she said.

At the mention of her name, Remy stood up with all intentions to attack before he felt a pair of burly hands grab his shoulders and force him back down into his seat.

“There’s no need to get up-in-arms,” Silver said. “It’s just a question.”

“A few weeks, maybe.”

“Was that when she broke things off with you?”

He took a long drag from his cigarette. “Maybe.” 

Silver nodded. “You mentioned her a lot last night. Said you only had eyes for her. You used those exact words, which is ironic because that’s exactly what you wagered: your eyes.”

“That a figure o’speech?”

“‘Fraid not.” Pulling a red folder from her jacket, she opened it and placed it in front of Remy. What he saw was a simple piece of paper that could only be described as a contract.  
It read: "On this date, the 24th of March, 20XX, Remy Etienne LeBeau promises to pledge One Pair of Eyes to Ms. Silver. Any violation of this contract will mean the forfeiture of Mr. LeBeau’s life into servitude, the duration of which will be established by Ms. Silver at the voiding of this contract."

It was simple and to the point, even if Remy didn’t completely understand the logistics of it. And, most importantly, the signature at the bottom was his. No one could have faked that.

The man with the neck tattoo slammed a knife down onto the table then. It was a wicked-looking thing, with a curved, black blade that was serrated on the back, its handle curving in on itself to create a guard.

“Time to pay up,” Silver said with a smile. “Cinder, Smoke.”

The men grabbed Remy and hoisted him onto the table, slamming him down onto it.

“Waitaminute!” Remy said. “You can’ take my eyes.”

Silver ran a hand over his chest, directly over his heart. Her skin was cold and her nails felt like razor blades. “You signed the contract.”

“Nah, mon ami, you read it yo'self. ‘One Pair of Eyes'. A pair. Not ‘Remy LeBeau’s Eyes’.”

Frowning, Silver leaned over Remy’s body and took the folder. She looked through it for a moment and considered the words. After what felt like eons, she nodded. “So it does. You can let go of him, boys.”

With that, Cinder and Smoke released Remy, who sat up and backed away from the table. Looking at them again, Remy saw that both ‘men’ actually possessed a pair of glowing yellow eyes as well as a brand that was in the shape of a chalice. They regarded him suspiciously, as if waiting for him to try to make a break for the door. Silver didn’t look as worried.

“Well, the point still remains: I need those eyes,” she said.

“Why?” Remy said.

“That’s not important,” she said. “All you need to worry about is getting me a pair of eyes. And don’t think you can get just any old pair. I want eyes that would leave a person blind in more than one way.”

“Where am I s’posed to find ‘em?” Remy said. “I won' kill for you.”

Silver let out a long sigh. “You’re a thief, aren’t you? Just pretend it’s like any other job.”

“And when I get ‘em?”

Silver reached into her jacket and pulled out an old flip-phone, tossing it to him. Remy immediately opened it only to find it was dead. “You’ll be able to call me with that once you get a pair to my liking.” She motioned to Cinder and Smoke. “Let’s go boys.”

“How am I supposed to get outta here?” Remy said. “I don’ even know where we are right now.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, opening her door in the middle of the kitchen. A gust of warmth came from it, the air taking on the smell of brimstone. “I called your friends to come pick you up. They should be here any minute.”

The guards went through the door, but before Silver could step through, Remy stopped her.

“Wait,” Remy said, confused. “My friends? I don' know where we are, but I never saw you make a phone call. So, you made this call a while ago.” Realization dawned on him. “You were never gonna cut my eyes out. You knew about the loophole."

Silver shrugged. “I wouldn’t say never.”

“And the cellar?”

Silver lowered her sunglasses to reveal a pair of black, empty sockets beneath and then winked at him. “Had to make sure you wouldn’t run out one me. I heard you have a habit of doing that. Ciao, Remy.” 

And she disappeared through the door, which swung closed and left nothing behind.

It was then that Remy noticed his belongings in a neat bundle next to the fireplace: his jacket, boots, shirt, and everything he kept in his pockets. He hadn’t seen them there originally, but he was growing used to the idea of things magically appearing before him. 

Walking over, he quickly got dressed. As he finished lacing his boots, he heard the rush of air and felt the light rumble of an experimental jet landing. After a few minutes, a knock came from the door. Remy opened it to reveal the X-Men: Cyclops at the door with Storm and Emma Frost flanking him, Wolverine leaned up against a far wall smoking a cigar, and in the distance Rogue stood with Magneto by the Blackbird. She had her arms crossed and was looking to the ground, but when the door opened, she jumped, seeing Remy.

“Gambit,” Cyclops said. He smiled with his trademark, boy scout smile. “We heard you might need a ride.”

Without saying a word, Remy shut the door in his face.


	2. Friends in Low Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a quick stop at the X-Mansion, Remy begins to find some answers with the help of a friend.

“It has been a long time since I’ve seen Logan laugh that hard,” Storm said. She picked the kettle from the burner, steam spitting from the spout, and brought it to the table Remy sat at. “Still, you should not have shut the door on Scott. We’re all here to help you.”

The rest of the X-Men waited outside of the cabin, Storm being the unspoken choice to speak with Remy. Knowing that the man would clam up if she pried too hard or too fast, she took the conversation slow, beginning with the exchanging of pleasantries before informing him that he was now in Boreal Forest in Northern Alberta, Canada. He took the news lightly.

Remy sighed. “I know. I wasn’ really closin’ it on him, anyways.”

Storm poured the hot water over a strainer into each cup and then set the kettle back down. Remy wrapped his hands around the cup and absorbed the heat, letting it grow through him and route out the chill of sleeping shirtless in a cellar.

“So, it is Rogue you’re running from?” she said, taking the seat across from him, the same chair Silver was in just minutes before.

“I ain’t runnin’,” Remy said. “I’m jus’ tryin’ to give her some space.”

“Have you told her that?”

Remy paused and blew on the tea. “I figured she’d understand by the fact that I been gone for the last couple weeks.”

Storm raised an eyebrow. “A couple weeks? Remy, you’ve been gone for a month and a half.”

“Ah!” 

Remy started to take a sip, but the news distracted him, causing him to burn his upper lip. How could it have been that long? Sure, he had been drinking, but he would have noticed that he was gone for more than a couple weeks.

Storm reached over the table and grasped her friend’s hand. Her skin was warm and soft. It brought a certain amount of comfort to Remy that he hadn’t felt in weeks. “You’re hurting. Please, let us help you.”

“No offense, Stormy, but I don’ see how the X-Men can really help me,” he said. “Be honest. How many of ‘em even noticed I was gone?”

“We all noticed,” she said.

“But you’re the one who got ‘em to come an’ get me, weren’t ya?” Remy said.

“I happened to pick up the phone when this mystery woman of yours called,” Storm said. “But they would have come if you asked.”

“After what happened in Madripoor, I kinda doubt it.”

Again, silence overtook them. It was the very event that led Gambit and Rogue to break up again, and led him to leave the team. 

Outside, they could hear Emma complaining about dirt while Wolverine told her she needed to get out more.

“So,” Storm finally said, “we’re here now. Are you going to tell me where you’ve been?”

With a deep breath, Remy explained his situation to her. He told her about the drinking and the fights, glossed over the women, and even divulged the moments of actual sadness that would come over him when he least expected it. Finally, he told her of Silver and the strange bargain they’d struck up. Storm listened the entire time, her expression free of judgment.

When it was over, he took a sip from his mug only to find that the tea had grown lukewarm.

“Well,” he said to her. “Whaddya think? Some demon femme wants my eyes and I told her I’d find some that are better. How screwed am I?”

Storm chuckled. “Not as screwed as you think. Did she give you any sort of time-line for this?”

Remy thought it over. The conversation was clear in his head. “‘Pair of eyes,’ she said. Didn’ tell me when I had to get ‘em. ‘Course, I doubt she’ll be patient if I take too long.”

Storm shrugged. “Still, there is some flexibility with the timeline. You said she was missing her eyes?”

“Oh yeah,” Remy said. The sight of her empty sockets winking at him would forever be ingrained in his memories.

“Maybe she just wants you to find hers.”

Remy nodded. “I thought about that, but somethin’ about it jus’ doesn’ add up. Why would she want my eyes? Why not make the contract be ‘Remy LeBeau, go find my eyes’?”

Storm nodded. “I wish I could be more helpful, Remy. Perhaps the X-Men…”

“Non,” Remy said. “Ain’t bringin’ them into this. It’ll just end with Scott givin’ me shit about bein’ responsible for my actions or somethin’.”

“Is that worse than being maimed or killed?”

Remy looked past her to the front door. “I’ll get back to ya on that.”

There was a knock at the door. Cyclops walked through, the rest of the X-Men walking from the cabin to board the X-Jet in the background.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to cut this short,” he said. “We have a situation in Madrid. Gambit, still want that ride?”

Remy looked to Storm, who nodded as if to say, Take the olive-branch, Remy.

“If it’s not too much trouble, mon ami,” he said. “I need to grab my things anyway.”

#

They left just as Emma was about to use her powers to make Logan get on all fours and chase a squirrel like a bloodhound. They all regarded Remy with some sort of look of solemn politeness, but no one actually said a word to him. Even Rogue stayed at the front of the jet, casually glancing at Remy as if she wanted to say something, but staying silent nonetheless. Storm ended up sitting with him in the back as they lifted off and set a course for the X-Mansion.

“Thanks for sittin’ with me, ‘Ro,” he said. His voice was quiet so only she could hear him over the hum of the jet. “Now I know how the dorky kids felt like at school lunch.”

“You never went to school,” she said and placed hand on his shoulder. “But you’re welcome. Even if you don't believe me, I do count you as one of my closest friends."

Remy opened his mouth to reciprocate with a similar sentiment, but he couldn’t. Usually, he had no problem speaking his mind, but something about the moment didn’t feel right, so he just nodded. Storm seemed to know what he felt, though, and returned the nod with a smile.

“I was thinking about your predicament,” she continued. “Even if you won’t take our help, there is one X-Man you should talk to." 

"Oh yeah?"

"Well, a New Mutant, rather.”

#

The only thing that had changed since Remy’s departure from the X-Mansion was the world around it. The leaves of the oak and elm trees around the estate had turned from green to warmer shades of red and orange. The grass was now mostly golden-brown and the flowers sitting around the trellis in the windows were either picked or left to die.

Inside, the entrance smelled of cinnamon and had been decorated with pumpkins and gourds, with papier-mâché ghosts haunting the walls. Remy followed the grand staircase, careful not to disturb the fake webs that adorned the railing, and made his way towards the women’s dormitories. As he rounded the corner, he almost ran straight into a six-foot, seven wall of a Russian man.

“Piotr,” Remy said. “Pardon. I didn’ expect t’run into you here.”

“Gambit,” the man said. “I...I thought you had left the X-Men.”

Remy shrugged. “Still kinda am. Jus’ need to take care of a few things. Say, is that sister of yours around? I need to talk to her about somethin’.”

Colossus shifted uncomfortably, looking at him with suspicion. “What is it you wanted to talk to her about?”

Leaning in conspiratorially, he said, “Demon-y things.”

The man just sighed. “Bozhe moi, I should have known.”

“Don’ worry, homme. I jus’ wanna talk. I don’ plan on gettin’ her involved.”

“Nyet,” Colossus said. “But if she wants to get involved, she will.” He began to walk past him. “She is in her room. Make sure you knock hard on the door or she won’t hear you.”

#

A deep thumping of bass rattled the doorknob to Magik’s room. It took a few hard whacks against the door before Remy heard the music lower and the sound of footsteps approach. The door opened and a pair of blue eyes peered through the crack beneath a row of blond bangs.

“Oh, hello, Gambit,” she said. 

It was jarring to hear her voice after speaking with Colossus. Whereas Colossus’s Russian accent was still thick, hers was more delicate, having been chipped away at from years of living in the states. Or Limbo. 

“Can I help you?”

“I hope so, petite,” he said. “You have a minute or two? I could use your opinion on a demon.”

The girl opened her door and let Remy in. Inside, her room was dark, lit only by a purple neon light that sat over her desk. The man had to step over black clothing that littered the floor as well as various books in languages and alphabets that he did not recognize.

She went to a chair by her desk and picked up the Soul Sword that sat on it, offering him the seat. Remy took it as she went to her own bed, which was unmade and cluttered with more books. Magik, herself, was still in shorts and an old Xavier School shirt—her pajamas, Remy assumed—despite the fact that it was four in the afternoon.

“Well?” she said. “What kind of demon are we dealing with?”

“She goes by the name ‘Silver’,” Remy said. “And she has no eyes but seemed pretty dead-set on getting a pair. Runs around with a couple of thugs who have a chalice branded on their foreheads.”

Biting a pinky nail, she spaced off as she considered the words. “Silver? Probably an alias of some sort. Did she have any other markings?”

“Non,” Remy said. “No horns or a cloven hoof either, although it was hard to say.”

The girl looked at him dead-pan. “Don’t be racist, Gambit.”

“It’s just a joke,” he said. “So, any ideas?”

Magik sighed and shook her head. “It’s hard to say. Although, I do know one person who might know her.”

“Okay,” Remy said. “Just gimme his name and address and I’ll be outta yo’ hair.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not that easy,” she said and stood up. She walked over to her Soul Sword and grabbed it before moving to the center of the room. “You need to stand next to me.”

Remy got up and walked to the center of the room with her. “Do you want to put on shoes at least?”

She shrugged. “This will be a quick trip.”

And with that, a ring of light surrounded them and the floor opened up. Magik’s room cascaded away and what replaced it was a landscape of nightmares. Rocky spires jutted up into a sky of fire and blackness where jagged islands floated in random sequence. What little vegetation grew there was black and stripped of any leaves. In the distance, he could hear screams, but if they were human or not was unknown to Remy.

The two of them floated upon one of the islands. Magik saw Remy’s jaw-dropped expression. “First time?”

“Oui,” he said and looked down to a lake of fire. “An’ hopefully my last.”

“Well, try to keep up,” she said and hopped down.

“Wait!” Remy reached out to grab the girl before she could plummet to her death but saw one of the floating rocks pass by underneath. She hit it just in time. And if Remy was going to catch the same rock, he would need to jump immediately. So he did.

They rode that rock for a few meters until jumping to another and another. Remy had no trouble keeping up, but the thought of falling down into the fires below did put him on edge, even if he wouldn’t admit it to the 16-year-old who led him.

Finally, they reached a solid landmass that appeared to be a crude kingdom of some sort, as if someone had gone to the trouble to create a sandcastle, only to let rain slowly chip away at it through the years. With one final leap, they landed down in what could be described as the courtyard.

“Nice place you got here,” Remy said.

“This isn’t my place,” Magik said. “Just a home for a whiney subject of mine who has a taste for the dramatic at times.”

“S’ym heard that,” said a voice. It came from the castle, but was loud and deep enough that Remy thought it might have been the castle. A figure came forth from the shadows, large and horned. He wore a vest and chewed on a cigar that wasn’t lit, but his nostrils still exhaled smoke with every breath.

“I thought you said demons don’t have horns and cloven hooves,” Remy whispered to her.

“Not all do,” S’ym said. “Just the good-looking ones like S’ym.”

“S’ym, this is Gambit,” Magik said. “Gambit, S’ym.”

“What brings the Darkchylde to S’ym’s home?” he asked. He eyed Remy and spat on the ground. “Did you come to give him a snack?”

Magik looked at Remy as well and shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet. But no, we are here for information.”

“S’ym might have information,” the demon said. “What does S’ym get in return, though?”

Magik’s eyes began to glow a bright orange. “This isn’t a negotiation, S’ym.”

The demon flinched. It was a small twitch in his cheek, but it said enough. He otherwise kept a scowl on his face as he continued to chew on his cigar. The amount of fear S’ym seemed to have shed a new light on Magik. He’d heard through the grapevine of her story, her kidnap into Limbo, and eventual victory over the demon lord that once ruled it. But, still, it was hard at times to think of this girl as a demon sorceress who could bring about the apocalypse.

“Well, what do you want to know from S’ym?” the demon asked.

Remy recounted the events of that day and described Silver and her goons in as much detail as possible. S’ym watched him, making a grunt here or there but otherwise staying silent. Once he was finished the demon thought about his words.

“S’ym might know who this is,” he said. “A few years ago, there was word of a lowly succubus who had made her way to full-fledged demon lord. Heard she had followers with the chalice brand, too. She didn’t go by ‘Silver’, though.”

“D’you know what she went by?” Remy asked.

“Can’t remember,” he said. “But, S’ym does know how she lost those eyes. Some magic-user conjured her for the purpose of taking them for a specific spell. The spell was to grant the user clairvoyance.”

“I don’ suppose you know who the magic-user is,” Remy said.

S’ym shook his head. “But whoever it is must be pretty powerful.”

“Well, that’s not great news.” He perked up and pulled the phone out of his pocket. “Would you know anythin’ about this?”

S’ym didn’t even break eye-contact. “It’s a phone.”

“Silver said that when I found the eyes, I would be able to use it to call her.”

Magik plucked the phone from his hand and studied it. “It has some hex on it. What she said is probably true. But be warned, she is also probably tracking you with it.”

Remy scratched the stubble on his chin. “Anyway you’d be able make it so she can’t track me with it?”

Raising an eyebrow, Magik said, “Unfortunately, no. I’m afraid I’m not as well-versed in arcane tech support.”

He let out a defeated sigh. “Great.”

#

A headache was plaguing Remy by the time Magik brought him back to the X-Mansion. He thanked her with an “I owe you one” to which she replied with an “I know” and walked from her room to the men’s dormitories through the opposite hallway. There was no difference in the dorms here, either, save for a missing doorknob on one from when Logan accidentally locked himself out.

At the end of the hallway Remy found his door. He fished for his keys and unlocked it to find the room had been untouched since he left. The same coat hanging from the same closet door. The same smell of ash from the same ashtray overflowing with butts. And the same photograph that hung in the corner of his mirror.

There wasn’t much more. He didn’t have many possessions of note since so many of his things were in different safe houses all over the world. After all, he mused to himself, wasn’t this just another safe house? It certainly never felt like home. It was close at a certain point, but it never really hit its mark. 

What few possessions he cared about taking, Remy put in a backpack. Just as he was about to leave, however, he stopped, walked back to the mirror, and pulled the photograph from it before finally locking the door behind him. As he began to descend the stairs to the garage, he met one figure climbing up them.

“Scott,” Remy said. “Thought you guys would still be in Madrid.”

Cyclops had his head cover and visor pulled back, wearing a pair of ruby sunglasses instead. His uniform was dirty with ash and he smelled of smoke but still held his head high.

“It was a quick trip,” he said. He turned his attention to Remy’s bag. “Does this mean you’re leaving?”

“Seems so,” Remy said.

“For how long?” 

“Don’ know,” he replied. “Maybe f’r good.”

Cyclops began to say something and then changed his mind at the last moment. “I wish I could change your mind.”

Remy chuckled and continued down the stairs. “No you don’, mon ami.”

With the new information that the X-Men were back, Remy realized he needed to work fast to avoid anymore confrontations, so he continued down the corridor at a brisk pace, past the kitchen and to the garages. He flipped the lightswitch on, rows of halogen lights flickering on to reveal a garage the size of a stable.

Slowly walking down the middle, Remy’s hands brushed along the hoods and head ornaments of every car and motorcycle that the Xavier institute has acquired throughout the years. A ‘76 Panhead that Wolverine restored (or maybe he bought new and then restored it after years of use). An ‘84 Mustang that Scott bought with his brother. Even a ‘92 Mercedes that belonged to Warren after he inherited it from his father.

Remy’s bike was nowhere to be seen, which didn’t surprise him as he had taken it when he left the first time. God only knew where it was now.

So, working quickly, Remy hopped on one of Wolverine’s Suzuki’s and started it up. As he rolled it towards the opening garage door, a silhouetted figure blocked his path, the sun a backdrop behind them. At first, he cursed Logan’s heightened senses, wondering how the man could know about the bike and find him so quickly. But as the door continued to open, who he saw was not a 5’3 Canadian ball of adamantium and booze. It was a 6’ southern belle who could kill him with a touch.

And she didn’t look happy.

“Goin’ somewhere, sugar?” Rogue asked. Like Cyclops, her uniform was ashen and her hair was even disheveled, locks of her white streak of hair hanging down over her eyebrows.

“Oui,” Remy said. “Thought I’d get outta here ‘fore I cause anymore trouble.”

“You can’t keep avoiding me, Gambit,” she said. “We need to talk about what happened in Madripoor.”

“Non. I don’ see the point an’ honestly, all the talkin’ has exhausted me. What happened happened,” Remy said and tried to push past her but she put a hand on the bike, stopping him. “Better not hurt this bike. Wolverine’d be awfully angry wit’ you.”

The answer didn’t seem to satisfy Rogue. She kept her hand on the bike and stared at Remy. “Ah could give a damn what he thinks right now. What Ah wanna know is why you’re leavin’ town.”

Remy let out a long, deep sigh through his nostrils to make it obvious to Rogue that he was beginning to grow frustrated. “What’s the matter, you don’ trust me?”

“You know Ah do.”

“You do when it’s convenient to you,” Remy said. “What about Madripoor? You weren’t exactly jumpin’ in front of me to fend off Scott an’ Logan when they were throwin’ accusations at me on the train.”

Rogue shook her head. “Maybe you should’ve trusted us, first. But you didn’t and that woman almost got away again.”

“‘That woman,’” Remy repeated with a chuckle. “Still, I’d give you a chance to explain yo’self. Either way, this team’s been waitin’ for me to screw up since I joined up.”

“That’s not fair,” she said.

“Neither is bein’ immediately condemned by your supposed teammates.”

They stood in silence, looking at each other, waiting for the other to say something. They each wanted the other to admit that they were wrong and ask for an apology. They wanted to be able to move on and move forward. 

But no apology ever came and deep down, they knew they were each too stubborn to admit their mistakes for the time being.

“So, what?” Rogue said, standing aside. “You’re just gonna ride off into the sunset?”

Remy looked out to the sky and saw that the sun was indeed beginning to dip into the horizon, painting the sky in a fusion of orange and pink. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Guess I am.”

“When will you be back?” she asked.

Remy shrugged. “Not sure. It might not even be a ‘when’, you know?”

“You’re just leaving the team?” Rogue asked.

“Seems so,” Remy said. “I’m not doin’ that puppy dog act with you anymore. I’m jus’ gonna give you the space you seem to want.”

“Remy,” she said, but the man started the engine of the bike, drowning her out. 

He looked to her one last time, thinking that this could be the last time he actually saw her if he failed and Silver took his eyes. Then he noticed someone approaching behind her. Nodding, he said, “Looks like you’ve got company.”

Magneto approached, floating down from the mansion. It seemed like he might have something to say, but whatever he had to say couldn’t change Remy’s mind. He started off down the driveway, leaving his now-ex as another man came to comfort her. As he turned off of Greymalkin, he chuckled to himself at the irony.


	3. The Messenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gambit's search brings him to an unlikely resource, who gives him more clues as to what he is looking for.

It was nearly midnight by the time Remy made it to his hideaway in Brooklyn. It was a small studio located above a bustling dive bar that was famous for its cheap beer. Remy could hear the scratchy guitar of a crappy rock band below him but as he dropped his bag into the floor and collapsed on his bed, sleep came quickly. 

He awoke the next morning, unsure of what time it was because his phone was dead and he had forgotten to charge it overnight. After plugging it in, he jumped into the shower and washed away the previous 24 hours while he mulled over his current predicament.

Silver was a demon, an up-and-comer if there was such a thing in the hellscapes of Limbo and its neighboring planes of existence. She lost her eyes to someone that wanted to see the future. For some reason, she wanted Remy’s eyes but that might have just been a roundabout way for her to put him on the path of finding hers—when it came to otherworldly figures, one could never guess at their schemes.

So, on the cork board in Remy’s mind, the red strands of yarn all led to one question: who stole her eyes?

There were many reasons why someone would want foresight. Maybe they were in a dangerous position and wanted to avoid death. Maybe they needed to know the results of a specific action or event. Or, if they were anything like Remy, they just wanted to make a fortune on some well-placed bets.

As he finished his shower, Remy felt a rumble in his stomach. Had he eaten anything in the last 24 hours? He couldn’t remember doing so, so he went to the fridge. Inside he found an open bottle of champagne as well as something in a Tupperware had become green, but nothing else.

Time to go find some grub, he thought to himself. 

He grabbed his keys and put on his boots before he finally pulled his phone from the charger. Booting it up, he saw that he had a few missed calls and text messages. Locking his apartment, he scrolled through, seeing what he missed out on in the last nine hours. A couple of the voicemails were from Logan, wondering where his bike was. Another from Ororo, asking how he was. A text from Etienne, sending him a picture of a cat wearing a chef’s hat (inside joke). And a text message, again from Logan, threatening certain death if he didn’t return the bike.

Then there was a voicemail from an unknown number.

As he headed down the street towards a coffee shop on the corner, he listened to the last message.

“Mr. LeBeau,” the voice said. It was deep and not immediately recognizable. “I know you’re looking for me. Needless to say, there is no move that you could make that I won't see coming. Don’t come try to find me.” There was a pause. "I'll know if you do."

Then he hung up. 

“Sir,” the woman at the counter said. He hadn’t even realized it, but he was next in line. “Can I help you?”

“Sorry ‘bout that, chere,” he said with a smile. “Can I get a large black coffee and one of them cheddar bagels?”

The woman, Stella from her name-tag, blushed and returned his smile. She rang him up and asked for his name while she grabbed his bagel and brewed his coffee. 

Remy took his breakfast and found a seat at the window, overlooking the street. As he sat and ate, he watched the bustle of people walking by the window. A man struggled to keep his daughter—or niece perhaps—from picking up a sucker discarded to the pavement. A couple waved a taxi. A woman smoked her last cigarette while her poodle relieved themselves on a spruce. 

Any one of these people could be the man he was looking for.

As he finished his coffee, Remy listened to the voicemail one more time. 

“I know you’re looking for me,” he said. “And you know I know.”

As he re-listened to that last line, Remy had a realization. If the man knew he was looking for him, then that meant he saw it with his new-found powers. So, by that logic, Remy would naturally find him. The question now was: how?

After listening to it an eighth time, He picked up on one thing. It was small at first. He thought maybe it was just background noise from the coffee shop but after seven more times, he realized it was there. A voice in the background during the slight pause at the end.

“...we’ll cover...,” it said. There was more, but Remy could only make out those three words.

“‘We’ll cover…,’” he repeated to himself. These two words followed him throughout the rest of his day. It was a common phrase, but the way it was spoken triggered something inside him. There was a familiarity to them. It could have just been from a TV commercial, but for some reason that didn’t seem right.

He got on the internet on his phone and searched the phrase. Most of the results were for well cover prices. Other results included videos on how to install well covers and a song from a musical about someone covering someone else’s rent.

With a grunt, he put his phone back in his pocket and left the coffee shop. He had one more lead. Outside, the sky grew overcast and the wind brought with it a chill. Between that and the growing traffic, Remy decided it would be best to take the subway.

Making his way to the nearest station, he took the F, L, M across the river to Manhattan. His destination was still a few blocks away, but Remy didn’t mind the walk. He stuck his hands in his coats while sucking down a cigarette.

It felt good to be back in the city. It felt closer to being back in New Orleans even if it wasn’t a one-for-one comparison. There were often times at the Xavier Mansion when he could barely get to sleep. It was just too quiet and, to an extent, too safe. Even though he knew Xavier wouldn’t harm him, he could never be too sure. What if it was all a trap? Of course the thoughts would seem ridiculous the next morning, but at the time, they seemed rational. After all, this sense of paranoia was what kept him alive on the streets of New Orleans early on in his life.

It was that paranoia that drove his friends away, said a voice in the back of his head.

"No," Remy muttered to himself. Their very actions had all but confirmed his suspicions about them.

Before he could think anymore on it, he arrived at his destination: 177A Bleecker Street. 

It was a beautiful building, if a little strange. Remy walked up the steps and tapped at the door, a large red hunk of wood hidden within the recesses of a stone arch. After a moment, it opened to reveal a bald man in a green tunic.

“Bonjour, Wong,” Remy said. “The doctor in?”

Wong raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Remy reached into his coat and flashed his circular X-Men communicator. “Maybe not me, but surely you know them.”

“Ah, the X-Men,” Wong said and opened the door. “Please, come in.”

Remy entered and was immediately taken by the large stained glass window over the staircase before him. It was circular, made of a combination of pink and yellows and blues with an eye in the middle, staring down at him. Even with his lack of magical knowledge, Remy could tell there was more going on with that eye.

“I’m sorry but Doctor Strange is out today,” Wong said, taking Remy’s coat. “He’s been called away on business regarding the Avengers.”

“Ah,” Remy said. Wish he would’ve led with that, he thought to himself.

Wong led him up the stairs to and then to the right. “However, he did see your coming and asked that I help.”

“Well, I was hoping he might be able to tell me about some dark magic that grants someone the powers of clairvoyance,” he said.

Wong considered the words as he and Remy came to the library on the second floor. It smelled of dust and old books. The books that lined the walls were ancient, some bound in leather, others in skins that Remy didn't recognize.

“What kind of dark magic?” Wong asked, scouring the library.

“Demon magic,” he said. “Specifically, using a demon lord’s eyes.”

Wong hummed a sound of recognition and went to the back corner of the library. Running his fingers across the spins, he stopped on one book and pulled it out. It was black, with golden letters. 

SATANAS PROMISSA

He flipped through the book, stopping about a third of the way. “If this person was summoning a demon lord to take her eyes, he would need a powerful containment spell or he would be killed in a matter of seconds. So, between that, the summoning, and the ritual using the eyes, it appears he was using this book.”

“That a popular book?” Remy asked. He peaked at the words over his shoulder. They were hand-written in Latin on paper that was yellowed and wrinkled.

“Well, it’s not one you'll find at any bookshop,” Wong replied and continued to study the book. “So, he must be somewhat connected, at least.”

“Any leads on how to find him? Was hopin’ your boss would be here so I could borrow that fancy necklace of his.”

Wong scoffed. “First of all, Strange is not my boss, not really. Secondly, the Eye of Agamotto is not just a ‘fancy necklace’. It would probably help you find who this is, but, I doubt the Sorcerer Supreme would just lend it to you for the weekend.”

Remy shrugged as if to say it was worth a shot asking. “Any ideas why said demon lord might want my eyes?”

Wong's face went slack. “A demon lord wants your eyes?”

“That’s what the original deal was for. But I talked her into letting me find hers instead.”

Wong thought for a moment. “Well, that’s interesting. Of course, if the man who took her eyes has used them, then there’s no point in really looking for them. She could just be setting you up to fail.”

“Maybe,” Remy said. “But at least I bought myself some time.”

“Indeed,” Wong said. “If she wants your eyes, they must be comparable to her own, somehow.”

The man stared into Remy’s eyes, studying the black and red. He saw the faint glow that came from the pupils and wondered what it could mean. After a moment, Remy blinked.

“Listen, you gonna buy me dinner or somethin’?” he asked.

“I’m not sure why she would want your eyes,” Wong said. “And, truth be told, I’m not sure how you would be able to track down whoever took hers. But I can tell you this: whoever took them and used them does have a weakness.”

“What’s that?”

“His clairvoyance is limited,” Wong said, snapping the book closed. “He has a blind spot.”

# 

Remy ruminated over this new information later that night as he sipped down an IPA that tasted a little too tinny for his liking. A blind spot. What could that mean? How could he exploit it?

When he asked Wong what he meant, he said the book was vague. Something about the eye of the beholder. To Remy, it sounded like something from a Hallmark card. Still, if he was going to find this man that knew he was coming, there was a chance he could surprise him.

His thoughts were soon disrupted when someone bumped into his back. The bump wasn’t much but his beer swayed and slopped over the table. He turned to see a woman mid-apology.

“...so sorry,” she said. She wore a black dress and had her coat slung over her forearm.

“C'est bon,” he replied with a smile. “Are you okay? Need a new drink?”

He looked past her and saw she was in a circle of other women. One of them whispered something into the woman’s ear and then took her drink from her.

“Now that you mention it,” she said. “I could use one.”

Remy stood and made his way over to the bar, the woman in-tow. He hadn’t realized it, but the bar had filled since he had gotten there an hour before. Then he realized it was Friday.

As they waited behind a wall of patrons requesting drinks, Remy said to the woman, “Name’s Remy.”

“Blair,” she replied, shaking his hand.

“What brings you out here tonight, Blair?”

She motioned to her friends. “We’re celebrating. We all just finished midterms.”

Remy smiled. “Congrats. What are you studyin’?”

“Pre-law,” she said.

“Honorable profession.”

“What do you do?”

Remy looked up past the bar to the mirror and thought for a moment but said the first thing that came to his head. “I’m a dancer.”

“Oh, really?” she said. “Breakdancing? Square dancing?”

“Ballet,” he said.

Blair laughed at that. “Sorry, you just don’t seem the type.”

“I get that a lot,” he said.

When the crowd around the bar finally lightened, Remy ordered a pair of drinks: a bourbon neat and a hard seltzer. They clinked their glasses and drank. The two of them spent the rest of their night talking, flirting, and dancing when the song was right.

Eventually, Blair’s friends began to leave and one of them asked if she was coming with them or staying.

“Well,” she said. “I think I’ll stay with Remy and catch up with you guys later.”

The friend gave Remy one more lookover, either checking him out or making sure she had a face description in case her friend went missing, and nodded.

“So?" Blair asked as her friends walked out the door. 

"So..." Remy continued.

“Your place or mine?”

He felt himself blush. The woman was forward, which he always appreciated. There was a chemistry he had with Blair, he couldn’t deny that, and it had been a few days since his last tryst. But something kept him from giving an answer.

“Actually,” Remy said. “I’m not feelin’ that well. Must’ve been a little too much bourbon. I think it’s time I call it a night.”

“Oh, are you sure?” Blair said. He nodded, wincing slightly for effect. She fished into her purse and scribbled onto a piece of paper, handing it to him. “Well, here’s my number. Call me. Maybe I can come see you dance sometime.”

Remy flashed a smile and tucked the paper into his pocket. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

After making sure she caught up with her friends, Remy walked back down the street to his apartment, thinking of a subject he hadn’t thought of in the last 24 hours: Rogue. He thought he could just ignore it and focus instead on Silver or distract himself with sex. But he couldn’t. In all reality, he wasn’t exactly sure why he had flirted with Blair. It was just second-nature. In years past, he would have taken her to his place or her place or even a coat closet if it was that dire and he would not have batted an eye. 

But now it was the last thing he wanted.

“I shouldn’ even be thinkin’ of her,” he mumbled to himself as he walked up the stairs to his apartment. “She don’ want me and I’m not sure I’m good for her anyways.”

He looked at the phone number once more, tempted to call, but he didn’t. Instead, he unlocked his door and stepped through. Almost immediately, thoughts of Rogue dissipated.

There was a man sitting on his bed. And he held a gun pointed at Remy's stomach.

“Wasn’ expectin’ company,” Remy said. He put his hands up, his keys still wrapped around his fingers.

"Oh yeah? You sure that pretty thing on your arm didn't want to come back for a night cap?” the man said. He had an accent, one that Remy couldn’t quite place just from the one sentence he said. So, he’d have to keep him talking.

“Don’ suppose you’d let me to have one more smoke before you do me in?”

“Sorry,” the man said. “Can’t risk it. I know all about your sleight-of-hand.”

Remy shrugged. “There a reason you didn’ just shoot me when I came through the door?”

The assassin shrugged. “Kinda thought you'd at least try to bargain with me. Heard you’ve paid off your assassins in the past.”

“That was one time,” Remy said. Silently, he cursed Deadpool for blabbing.

“Eh, worth a shot,” he said.

Remy steadied his breathing and focused. The man was about done with talking and he needed to move fast. Without moving a muscle, he charged the keys in his hands. The man began to see the glow of Remy’s powers and raised his pistol to fire it, but he was too slow.

Throwing the keys at the man, Remy dove to the side, getting more cover from his dining room table. The assassin fired off two shots, but the bullets hit the door and table. The keys exploded, knocking the man to the floor. Remy picked himself up, having produced his cards, and leaped over the table.

The assassin began to pull himself off of the floor and raised the pistol to take another shot.

Remy got to him first, though, kicking the gun and sending it across the room. As he charged a pair of cards, he said, “So, you gonna tell me who sent you, mon ami?”

The assassin looked at the cards and then to Remy. “I don’t even know. Just some guy.”

"He the kinda guy who might kill you if you go back to him empty-handed?"

The man's eyes became sober. "You bet your ass."

That was all of the information he’d needed. He wasn’t an expert on accents but that last line paired with the voicemail is what revealed it.

“You from Jersey?” Remy asked. “Specifically, the southern part?”

The hitman froze. “Maybe...”

Remy nodded. “Thought so.” 

With a kick, he knocked the man out and then tied him up. Dragging him outside, he placed an anonymous call to the police and then went about cleaning his apartment. He started with sweeping up the scattered pieces of his keys.

“‘You bet your ass, we’ll cover it,’” he said to himself, emptying the bits of metal into the bin. He’d heard it countless times a few years back at a casino on a vacation from the X-Men.

Atlantic City. That’s where he would find this man.


	4. Surveillance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for a trip to Atlantic City!

With his keys destroyed, Remy’s first order of business the next day was to replace them. The apartment keys were a simple matter of getting new locks installed. 

The Suzuki was a little more difficult, especially since it was technically stolen. So, he cut his losses and hired a towing company to deliver the bike back to Westchester. He could have hired someone to get him a new set of keys on the down-low, but he wanted something with a little more comfort for his journey to Atlantic City.

Remy stepped out of the cab and onto the pavement in Queens, in front of a Marco’s Pawn and Loan, which touted “The Cheapest Damn Cigarettes” on the front door. It looked to be little more of a pawn shop, with its electric guitars and guns hanging up in the front window and miscellaneous aisles of hardware and jewelry. But to be fair, that was the idea. 

Stepping inside, Remy was greeted with the smell of floor cleaner and a cheap air freshener that tried to hide it. A squat man with a goatee haggled with a customer behind a plexiglass wall. A boy who looked too young to be working watched from the back, nervously mopping the same spot.

“And I’m tellin’ you,” the goateed man said, holding a coil of chain in his hands, “I don’t care if Ghost Rider came in himself and told me this was his. If there’s no paper or photographic proof, it ain’t worth squat.”

The customer, a lanky man in a tank top, leaned in close enough to the plexiglass that his breath fogged it up. “If you don’t buy this, you’ll be sorry.”

The man laughed at that and then proceeded to pull out a shotgun. The customer stepped back at that. “You see this gun? This is a Winchester Pump-Action that the Punisher used, himself.” He then brought out a piece of paper. “And you see this? This says that it’s authentic. But we can always test that other ways if you’d like…” 

The man muttered a curse and quickly backed away to the exit, shouldering past Remy as he stormed out the door.

The goateed man’s gaze followed the would-be customer and then settled on Remy. A flicker of recognition came over his face and then he frowned.

“Oh, sonofabitch,” the man said, coming from behind his counter. “I told you never to come back to this part of town.”

“You need to work on yo’ customer service,” Remy replied.

The men stared at one another for a moment before breaking out into laughter.

“Marco,” he said, hugging the man. “How you doin’, mon ami? Been a while.”

Marco shrugged. “Just another day in paradise, my friend.”

“Made your millions yet?”

The man scoffed and waved the thought away. “Been there, brother. Aiming for billions, now. So, what brings you here?”

Remy pulled a list from his pocket and handed it to the man. “Just need a few supplies.”

Marco eyed it and then called over the boy. “Go grab these things.”

The boy nodded and hurried off.

“I’m also lookin’ for a set of wheels. Got anything to spare?”

Scratching at his goatee, Marco thought for a moment. “Well, I’ve got a ‘99 Civic and an ‘02 Cruiser.”

“Eh,” Remy said. “I’m not takin’ my granny to the supermarket.”

A wide smile came over Marco’s face. “Well, I got the Penny back from the shop.”

The dreaded Penny. It was an El Camino but Marco started calling it the Penny, partially because of its copper color. It was a car that had been in Marco’s possession for years. He first acquired it as payment from a drug dealer who owed him money. He tried to sell it, but it always came back to him some way or another like a “bad penny”, hence the other reason for the name. 

The first owner brought back after the steering wheel came off when she was in the middle of Park and 5th. The second time it was returned to him after the second owner was carted off to jail before he could finish paying it off. And the third time, it was stolen. Marco had hoped it might stay stolen, happy to be rid of it even if it meant he wasn’t going to be paid for it, but New York’s finest tracked it down in a week and brought it back to him, although the stereo was gone, leaving only the AM radio.

With a resigned sigh, Remy handed the man a roll of cash. “Fine.” 

“Julian,” Marco said. The boy jumped and set the mop in a bucket before walking over to them. He handed the boy the list. “Put all of this in the Camino. Throw in one of those air fresheners while you’re at it.”

As the man gave his child employee more instructions, Remy looked around the shop. A rack stood next to the register, holding an assortment of products from candy to small mystery toys. One of the products in particular caught his eye.

“How much you want for those, homme?” Remy said, pointing at it.

Marco regarded him with a cocked brow. “Listen, I’m not judging but are you sure that’s your style?”

Remy shrugged. “You never know.”

#

After a couple more stops for supplies, Remy was on the road to Atlantic City. Traffic was slow and with the missing stereo, he was left with his thoughts for the entire ride. Usually, he didn’t mind this, but all he had been doing since he came out of his bender was think. He thought about himself and what he did wrong. He thought about the X-Men and what they did wrong. And he thought about Rogue.

What was she doing now? Was she training? Out on a field mission? Spending time with Magneto?

The last thought brought a pang of jealousy to his gut and he decided he was tired of thinking. So, he turned on the AM and listened to static-filled jazz for the rest of his trip.

By the time he had made it to Atlantic City, it was mid-afternoon. He purchased a room at the Rolling Rock Casino and then a separate room across the street at The Tempest.

The Rolling Rock was famous for two things: its vast collection of Rock’n’roll memorabilia and their catchphrase, “You bet your ass, we'll cover it."

If the man he was looking for was at this casino, he didn’t want to stay there, hence The Tempest. This hotel was from a different generation. While The Rock felt like a trendy, family-friendly place to ditch one’s kids and still be able to gamble, this was the jazzy relic from the Second World War where one might expect a woman to hover around the slot machines doling out cigarettes.

There were plenty of slot machines but no cigarette girls. Perhaps, Remy thought to himself, one of the octogenarians with oxygen tanks by their sides was once one of them, but those years had long since passed.

Remy found his room at the top of the casino. It was a small suite situated directly across the street from The Rolling Rock where he could see the comings and goings of the patrons as well as the suites at the top. He didn’t know who he was looking for, exactly, but he had an idea.

He waited until it was well after sundown, watching more and more people enter The Rolling Rock. At 9:00, he changed into a pair of slacks and a button-up and grabbed his jacket as he headed out the door. Surprisingly, the casino floor of the Tempest had grown, albeit with the same clientele of elderly gamblers, but still, there seemed to be some life left in the old place.

The Rolling Rock overflowed with life. As soon as Remy walked through the double doors, he was greeted with the sounds of Elvis Prestly’s “Hound Dog” trying to stay afloat above raucous of casino’s patrons. He made his way past the front desk of the hotel, through the lobby past a row of restaurants, and up a walkway to the entrance of the casino.

With the amount of people trying to get into the casino, the line branched into multiple places where security was checking IDs with a couple of sheriff’s deputies helping out. In Remy’s branch a deputy was in the middle of a disagreement with a scrawny man in a wifebeater and unbuttoned flannel.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the deputy said. Her dark curls were pulled back into a bun. “But I can’t let you in. You’ve been kicked out three times this week already.”

“That’s bullshit,” he said. He swayed from side to side as he spoke. “This place says they’ll take anyone’s money. Why not mine?”

The deputy looked at the clipboard in front of her. “It says you’ve tried starting fights here.”

The man scoffed. “That ain’t me. I’m just here to make some money and have some fun.”

The deputy didn’t break. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

From the back, two burly men in black appeared and flanked her.

“This guy giving you trouble, Daniels?” one asked.

Daniels’s jaw tensed and she side-eyed the men. “I’ve got it handled, Joel.”

The man in the wifebeater stepped forward. “Maybe you can tell this lady I can come in. I’m a regular here. Tell Hec that Lloyd is here and he’ll vouch for me.”

“Okay, Lloyd,” Joel said. “Let’s go have a talk with Mr. Tan.”

“Here.” Joel’s counterpart stepped forward and put his arm around Lloyd’s neck. “We’ll show you to him, ourselves.”

Daniels began to object, but Joel and his partner said nothing as they walked with Lloyd towards a door to the side.

Next was Remy. He handed Daniels his card and put on a polite smile as she looked it over with a blacklight.

“Mr. Holmes,” she said. “You’re a long way from Wichita.”

“That I am,” he said, putting on his best midwestern accent. The fake was the top of the line, but sometimes it was hard to keep up with whatever technology or procedures law enforcement was using to weed out them from the real ones. “Always wanted to make my way up here.”

Daniels regarded the card for one more moment and then handed it back to Remy with a nod. “Enjoy your stay.”

Remy nodded back and made his way up to the casino floor. He mingled into the crowd, walking through rows of slot machines and past the tables until he got to one of the bars. Ordering a bourbon, Remy sat on a stool and casually watched the patrons of the casino gambling their nights away.

People-watching was a part of the job he really enjoyed. Even if he was here for pleasure, he would still take some time out of his night to spy on the wide array of patrons: An older couple dressed to the nines playing the slots while sipping on cheap beers; a chubby man in an Eagles jersey putting his money on black; and four women in a bachelorette party argued with security over if they were too drunk yet.

Spying an escalator, Remy grabbed his drink and left the bar, winking at the bridesmaids as he passed them. The escalator had four sets of stairs and led down into another level of the casino. As he descended, Remy left the classic Rock’n’Roll of Elvis and entered a Metal-themed part of the casino. A bust of Satan greeted him at the bottom, swimming in a sea of red lights and Metallica.

Remy stepped off of the escalator onto a black tiled floor and felt like he was in a different casino altogether. The walls were lined with red neon lights, which cast a scarlet glow over the tables down here. Even the dealers wore red shirts underneath their vests and bow ties.

A woman in a black, glittering dress waited behind a podium. She smiled and said, “Welcome to the Inferno Room. Are you here to drink or gamble?”

On the back wall, he spied another set of doors. They were metal with a push-latch, but a small plastic rectangle to the side meant he was going to need a fob to unlock them. If Remy knew his casinos, he would guess that it was an entrance to the staff halls. And a path to the surveillance room.

“Gamble, I s’pose.”

The woman’s smile widened. “Great, five or ten?”

Remy shook his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “Five or ten what?”

“Thousand.”

With a flick of his gaze to the doors, Remy said, “Ten.”

As the woman led him to a table, questions loomed in Remy’s mind, questions that could easily be answered by an unknowing staff member.

“So, how long has this basement part been down here?”

She smiled. “About a year. It was the first thing Mr. Tan put in when he took over management. Of course, it was here before I was hired.”

“Your new here?” Remy said. “You don’t seem to be.”

“New to the job, not the city, though. I was never brave enough to apply for this place before.” She found a table with an open seat and gestured to it. “Will this do?”

“Who owned it before Tan?” Remy asked, taking the seat. He did remember the place being a little rougher before, definitely not one someone might take their families, but not too bad.

“The Pandele family,” she said. Leaning in close, she whispered conspiratorially, “Mafia.”

#

After an hour at the roulette table, Remy had already tripled his money and pinched a fob. Roulette certainly wasn’t his favorite game to play at the casinos--he thought it relied too much on chance and found it repetitive--but it was the best spot to post up so he could watch the doors and gain an idea of the security guards’ patterns. 

It appeared someone came and went every five minutes, making their rounds. Sometimes they would bring a rowdy patron or someone who was winning a little too much money back there. Remy considered offering himself up as one of the latter, but knew that would only give him more trouble. So, he collected his earnings, left a tip for the dealer, and walked back to the bar on the other side of the lower level to do some more people watching and devise a plan.

That’s when he saw him: Lloyd. Remy had no idea how he had made it into the casino, let alone the high-stakes level, but he sat at the bar, sipping on a gin.

Remy took a seat, leaving one stool between him and Lloyd, and ordered a whiskey sour. He waited to make his move, putting down one drink and then ordering another before he let Lloyd “catch” his eye.

“Lloyd, wasn’t expectin’ to see you down here,” Remy said.

Lloyd looked at him bleary-eyed. “D’I know you?”

“No,” Remy said. “But I saw you get escorted by Joel. Seems pretty rude of them to turn you away.”

“Bah.” Lloyd waved the notion away. “Oh, that’s just how ol’ Hec is. He doesn’t want people to know that he lets his lowlife best friend drink for free here.”

“Hec?”

“Hec. Hector Tan?” Lloyd said. “The owner of this joint?”

Remy frowned. “That’s right. He scared off the Pandele family, huh?”

Lloyd snorted. “Oh, yeah. Hec ran the Romanians out a couple years ago. And the Italians. And the Russians. There ain’t no more mob families in Atlantic City. Who’d’a thought we’d see the day?”

This was all news to Remy. He didn’t keep up with the news on gangs outside of New York, but surely he would have heard about a mass exodus of some of the oldest gangs that Atlantic City had to offer. The Tempest even used to be a hot spot for the Lucianos back in the day.

“So,” Remy said. “You and Mr. Tan must be pretty close if he lets you drink down here for free.”

Lloyd nodded. “That’s one way to put it. We grew up together on the streets.”

Remy nodded back in understanding. He knew exactly how strong a bond could be between a couple of boys who have to look out for one another when they have no home to go to.

“How did he go from living on the streets to owning a casino?”

“Four casinos,” Lloyd corrected. “And that’s a tough question. To be honest, I don’t really know. After a few years of pulling some small jobs with me and a couple other guys, he just up and left. Said he wanted to travel. Then, three years ago he comes back and he was...changed. A year after that, he’s the most powerful man in AC.”

Evidence was starting to point at this man being Silver’s eye thief, but it could be a coincidence. There was only one way to know for sure.

“Say, Lloyd, would you mind doing me a favor?” Remy said. The man didn’t seem to hear him. “There’s money in it.”

Lloyd perked up. “What kinda favor?”

Remy sat his winnings on the table. “Would you mind cashing these in for me? I’ve got a bum leg and can’t really make my way over there. I’ll give you, let’s say, 20%?”

Lloyd looked at the stacks of chips. “How about 25%?”

Remy nodded and pushed the chips to Lloyd. “Deal.”

He watched Lloyd take the chips and scoop them into his shirt. What Lloyd hadn’t seen was the one chip that Remy had charged. It was a low charge that wouldn’t harm Lloyd, but would go off as soon as he was far enough away. It meant Remy would be out $30,000 in chips, but he had never planned on cashing them in anyways.

A few moments after Lloyd disappeared up the escalator, Remy heard a loud pop, as if a gun had been fired. People murmured and screamed in shock as the fire alarm sounded and the sprinklers went off. Remy rushed into the crowd, but let everyone get ahead of him as they clambered up the escalators. When he was finally alone, he rushed back to the double doors and scanned the fob.

The corridor he was led into felt sterile compared to the over-the-top decor of the rest of the casino. White walls. Plain, tiled floor. Scuff marks in some places that Remy could only assume came from some patrons who were literally dragging their feet when being taken away.

He made his way down it and took a left at where it split. He came upon a few doors along the way and peaked inside, finding a maintenance closet and a changing room. At the far end he found one more door that required a fob. He scanned it and let himself in.

Inside, he found a surveillance room that looked like any other: walls of monitors displaying multiple angles of all parts of the casino. Remy sat down before them and got to work, bringing up files that showed past dates and searched for the previous day’s footage. Upon finding it, he brought the footage up and went for the exact time-stamp from when he received the message.

Of course, there were hundreds of people there at the time and dozens on their phones. Remy replayed the message, watching the mouth movements of those who were on calls. But he didn’t need to look for long. He found him almost immediately.

There was Hector Tan, standing in the middle of his own casino, leaving Remy the message. He wasn’t even trying to hide what he was doing. In fact, he stared into the camera as he left the message.

Realization dawned on Remy and he jumped out of the chair. This was his plan. He lured Remy into his own house, where he was most powerful, and planned on trapping him.

Remy jolted up from his chair and started to make his way out of the security room. He heard voices coming from the direction he had originally entered, so he continued down the hallway. Before he could make it a few steps, however, a door opened from that end followed by more voices.

“...said he’s this way,” one of them said.

“How does he know?” another voice said.

“Boss is weird like that.”

“Merde,” Remy muttered to himself. He looked up at the ceiling and saw no vents and there were no more doors. There was no other option but to pick a direction and get ready for a fight.

As he was already headed towards the voices, he pulled out his cards and began charging two of them. Two thugs rounded the corner and almost jumped when they saw Remy heading towards them. They each pulled out pistols and took aim. Remy threw the cards, each one hitting the opposite wall around the two men.

Their pistols went off but the cards exploded first, causing them fire into the ceiling. Seeing his opening, Remy lunged forward and knocked away the first thug’s gun and then grabbed him by the forearm and swung him into the second thug. In the cramped space of the hallway they each slammed into the wall and went down. The second thug began to stir, but Remy delivered a kick that knocked him unconscious with his friend.

The voices from the other end of the hallway grew louder, hearing the gunfire and explosions. Remy ducked around the corner of the hallway and ran to the doors at the end. When he got to them, he stopped, took a deep breath, and swept his hair to the side as he pushed through.

This exit brought him around the other side of the escalators. He headed for them, trying to look like he was in a rush from the fire alarm but not suspicious enough so that anyone still there would think he had caused it. 

On the main level, the place was deserted, with the tables flooded with water at this point. He could see the flashing red lights of fire engines that had pulled up and immediately went looking for another exit. Going down the walkway, he saw a red door in the back of one of the restaurants and went to it.

With one last prayer to the heavens that no one would be outside, he opened the door. It led to the parking lot outside. While there were people out here, walking to their cars or just trying to dry off, no one seemed to notice or care. 

No one but the sheriff’s deputy that Remy failed to notice.

“Hold it,” she said. 

Remy froze and turned around to see Deputy Daniels. She was soaked, just like he, and her hair had puffed out in a mass of black curls. She also had her pistol trained on him.

“Alright, Wichita. You’re coming with me.”


	5. Night Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Low on time and options, Remy makes an unlikely ally.

“So, Wichita,” Daniels said as she drove him away from the Rolling Rock. “Wanna tell me your real name? Maybe where you’re really from?”

Remy told himself he could have gotten away from Daniels but he didn’t. As the crowd of people watched, some even recording him on their phones, he knew if he made any moves to attack, he would only perpetuate the same stereotypes of mutants spread by those too scared to know any better. So he let her cuff him and put him in the back of her cruiser.

“My name is Eric Holmes and I’m from Wichita,” Remy said.

“I’m from Kansas City,” she said over her shoulder. “I don’t know what accent that is you’re trying to pull off but I’ll be damned if it’s Wichita. Plus, I pulled this off of you before I put you back there.”

She held up a red circle of glass and metal with a black X over it. Remy frowned, not realizing it was still in his pockets when she had checked him for weapons.

“Are you one of the X-Men?” she asked.

“Sorta,” Remy said. He slipped back into his normal accent. It didn’t seem to be worth the effort to keep up the charade. “Takin’ a bit of a vacation from them, though.”

“So what brings you up here?” Daniels asked. “And why do you have a death-wish, messing with Tan and his goons like you did?”

“How do you know I did?” Remy asked. She may have figured out he wasn’t really from Kansas but he wasn’t about to admit to responsibility for the mass evacuation of the casino, especially if she was in Tan’s pocket.

Daniels pulled the cruiser onto the shoulder. Remy hadn’t realized it but they weren’t even in the city limits anymore. He tensed up. Was she about to try and execute him?

“Alright, cut the shit,” she said. “An ex-X-Man comes all the way to Atlantic City. He uses a fake to get into the casino owned by the city’s most powerful man. And he causes a scene that evacuates said casino so he could get into the restricted parts of the building and snoop around.”

Remy thought for a moment. The woman hadn’t reached for her firearm and she hadn’t called this in since they entered the vehicle. It seemed that she really did want answers.

“Alright, chere, whatchu wanna know?”

“What’s your game with Tan?”

Remy took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m tryin’ to steal something from him.”

“What?”

“Eyes.”

“Eyes?”

“Yes, eyes.” He shrugged. “Well, I guess it’s just one eye at this point but that’s the truth, chere.”

“Stop with the ‘chere’ talk,” she said. “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“Ah, not interested in les hommes?”

“Married.”

“I don’t see a ring.”

“I don’t wear it on duty.”

Remy nodded. “Is that what Tan’s got on you? He threaten to kill your beau if you don’ work for him?”

A fire roared in Daniels’s eyes. “My husband is none of your business.”

Remy was about to put his hands up defensively but remembered he was cuffed, so he just shrugged again. “So you’re a straight cop in a precinct full of crooked ones. That it? You’re better than the rest and you’re tryin’ to bring him down?”

“Basically,” she replied. “So you’re really just trying to steal one of his eyes?”

Remy shook his head. “It’s not his eye I’m tryin’ to steal. It belongs to someone else.”

A look of disgust came over Daniels. “I knew he was a sick fuck but I didn’t think he was collecting body parts. You have proof of this?”

“Eh, not really,” he said. “But my source is good.”

“Your source?” she asked. “Who’s your source?”

Remy just smiled.

“Come on,” she said. “You help me and I’ll help you. Legally, I don’t approve of theft, but if you’re willing to jump into the lion's den, then you might be someone I could see as an ally.”

She watched him as he considered her words.

“If not, I can drive you right back to the lion’s den. I’m sure he’s hungry after that little stunt you pulled.”

The threat didn’t mean much to Remy at face-value. It was empty. If anything, she would drive him to the precinct and book him. But the sentiment of it meant something.

“Alright, fine,” he said. “But you gotta promise me somethin’.”

“What?”

“You can’t take me to the psych ward.”

#

“That’s the craziest story I’ve ever heard,” Daniels said, twenty minutes later. “But as of now, it’s the best explanation for how Tan gained control of Atlantic City so quickly. Where did he learn all of this, though?”

Remy shrugged. “Wish I knew. Must’ve learned it when he disappeared for those years.”

Daniels shook her head and looked out to the horizon where Atlantic City spread out before them.

“So, what’s your plan?”

“It’s simple,” Remy said. “Break in, steal the remaining eye, get out.”

The deputy scoffed at that. “So, this man knows everything that’s gonna happen and you think you can just break into his place like some common burglar?”

“I’ve got the schematics for the place,” Remy said. “I wouldn’t normally admit this to a cop, but this isn’t my first heist.”

She groaned at that and rubbed at her temple. “You’re not making me anymore excited to help you. You know that, right?”

“Pardon.” Remy sat back into his seat. “I’ve been told I’m not a great team player.”

Daniels opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it. Instead, she stepped out of the cruiser and opened his door.

“What are you doin’?” Remy asked.

“I’m gonna get those cuffs off of you,” she said.

“Cher,” he said. “I broke outta these cuffs the moment you put me back here.”

He handed them to her as proof. Hooking them back onto her belt, Daniels muttered something to herself as she got back into the cruiser and pulled it back onto the highway. She drove him back into town, both of them asking the other more questions about what they knew of Tan and his operation. When they finally got back into town, Daniels parked a block away from the Tempest due to a suspicion that had come over Remy. As they approached it from the shadows of a nearby alleyway, they saw his suspicions were correct. 

There were still cars around the Rolling Rock, some fire trucks but most ACPD or the sheriff’s department.

“What are the chances your room is still safe?” Daniels asked.

“I checked in under a different name,” Remy said. “But Tan could’ve tracked me here with his powers. So, we either try it and risk it or we go to your place. But if we go to your places, there are still a couple things I need to grab.”

Daniels sighed and shook her head. “Fine. Let’s check your place out first.”

Without another word, she followed him through a back door and they found an elevator nearby. The elevator was glass and overlooked the lobby and lounge below, each level a ring around it as it extended up 10 levels. They took it and watched those in the courtyard grow smaller and smaller.

As they reached the 10th level, they passed by a man and his son, who were fighting about either going to the pool or going back to the room to watch the rest of the game. But there appeared to be no one else around.

Cracking the door, Remy peaked inside and slowly went around the apartment, checking closets, underneath the bed, and around the bathroom. When he found no one, he went about checking lamps, phones, and outlets for any devices, explosives or otherwise, but again found nothing. After letting Daniels into his room, Remy fished a floor plan from a satchel and spread it over a desk near his bed.

“So, Tan’s room is at the top.” He circled around a suite at the top of the building. Being the only suite at this level, it looked like the head of the building. The levels below spread out and ran down like shoulders into arms. “He’s gonna be expectin' me, but he does have a blind spot.”

“And what’s that?” Daniels asked.

Remy thought for a moment. “I’m not sure but I been thinkin’ about it for a while now. His powers must be limited: he can see some things but not others. Otherwise, he would’ve figured out that tryin’ to trap me in his Casino wouldn’t work.”

“Unless he ‘saw’ that happening and knew it would be part of a bigger plan,” she said.

Remy shrugged. “Maybe. But why not kill us on the highway when we were on the bridge talkin’? Why not put a bomb in this very room?”

Daniels froze and her eyes darting from the ceiling to the lamp to the bed.

“He didn’. Trust me,” Remy said. With how relaxed his demeanor was, she did. “So, I don’t think he can see every step of the plan.”

The deputy nodded, though still unconvinced.

Remy continued. “From what I can see, the best way to get up to the suite would normally be from the outside since it’s unprotected, but knowin' him, he’s gonna see that comin'.” He circled around a line that led up from the first floor. “He’d probably also see me comin' up from the elevator shaft.”

“Okay, so where does that leave us for options?”

He gave her a partial smile and leaned in. “I’m gonna wing it.”

Daniels raised her eyebrows. “‘Wing it?’”

Remy nodded. “I can’t plan anythin’. He knew I’d track him down to his casino. He knew I’d break in and try to find him through security. It was all part of my plan, which he saw. If I can be as random as possible with my approach, maybe I can keep him guessin’.”

“So where do I come in?”

Remy walked to the window and through it. He motioned to her and she joined him. Outside, the fire engines were beginning to pull away although most of the squad cars were still there. But that’s not what Remy was looking at. His gaze rose up from the streets to the windows of the casino, all the way to the suite at the top.

“I’m gonna need you to be my eyes and ears,” he said. “Radio me what’s goin’ on. Hell, radio your cop-friends if you can and throw ‘em off my scent.”

“Sounds easy enough,” she replied. “When do we do this?”

“No time like the present.”

Walking back to the bed, he dumped his bag out, revealing an amuse-bouche of gadgets: lockpicks, cards, EMP blasts, smoke grenades, ropes, and two retractable staffs.

As he finished gearing up, he saw Daniels watching him.

“Think your husband’d be jealous, you an’ me in this hotel room together?”

Daniels rolled her eyes. “I’m just wondering if you’re trying to steal from Tan or if you’re trying to kill him.”

“I’m just tryin’ to be as prepared as I can for a man with god-like powers,” he replied.

Daniels said something else but Remy didn’t catch it. A glint in the window caught his eyes. A flash of light came from across the street. It was brief, but a strange thing to see from atop the Rolling Rock.

“Daniels,” Remy said, still looking through the window. “Why were you back behind the casino when you found me?”

Daniels frowned. “I got orders to go back there and direct the crowd.”

Remy dove for the deputy as the glass of the window cracked.

Daniels yelped in surprise as they tumbled to the carpet.

Remy wasn’t fast enough though. As he pulled himself off of the woman, he looked and saw a hole in Daniels’s jacket, red spreading from it.

The door to the room smashed open and in filed five men with guns, their laser sights on Remy and Daniels.

She was there at the right place at the right time. Not only at the casino but here in this room. Tan knew Remy could escape easily, but he also knew Remy wouldn’t leave a comrade behind. It was as if it were planned.

It was at this moment that he realized he may have bitten off a little more than he could chew.


	6. The Blind-spot

It wasn’t the first time in Remy’s life that he had awoken naked, bound, and hanging upside-down from the ceiling of a place he didn’t know. In fact, this was the sixth time. But it was the first time he had an audience of armed men around him. Tan was truly not taking any chances.

As he came to, the world slowly coming into focus, he felt himself swaying from side to side. He was in a large room, round, maroon tables spread out around him. They were empty, along with the chairs that surrounded them, but Remy knew a card table when he saw it. One closest to Remy had a glass on it filled halfway with a clear liquor.

When his vision finally caught up with his conscious mind, however, Remy saw that he was not in a casino. He wasn’t even in Atlantic City anymore. He was on a boat and, judging by the vast horizon of water, in the middle of the ocean.

Pivoting around from the ropes that bound Remy’s ankles, he saw there were four men around the room, guarding the exits with guns. They watched him closely, none embarrassed about his nudity. He knew that if he made any sort of movement, they would jump on him, but he also knew there was no way they would have left any of the various lockpicks on him, so he didn’t bother to check.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t have one more thing on him. Or ten.

The doors opened from the back and Hector Tan stepped through, flanked by a pair of guards. He was dressed in a suit that was tailored to his lithe frame, but something about it seemed ill-fitting to the way he carried himself, as if he wasn’t used to wearing the suit.

“Mr. LeBeau,” he said. His voice was calm and smooth, with the slightest hint of a scratch from perhaps a past life of smoking or substance abuse. “We finally meet.”

One of the guards pulled a chair out from a nearby table and set it out in front of Remy, where Tan took a seat.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said. “Unfortunately, my powers aren’t always as exact as I would like.”

“Where’s Daniels?” Remy asked.

He tilted his head to the side. “Is that really all you have to say to me right now?”

“Right now,” Remy replied.

“Well, she’s being looked after. As you probably figured out, the shot was just to maim her to slow you down, but I never wanted to kill her.” Tan paused to clear his throat, motioning for one of the guards, who left the room. He walked along the windows outside until he disappeared behind another door. “Normally, I would be disappointed in the betrayal, but it worked in my favor.”

The man returned, then, pushing a wheelchair in front of him. Daniels sat in it, still wearing the same, bloody shirt she was shot in. Her body was covered in sweat and her skin was pale.

“Daniels,” Remy said. “You okay?”

The deputy nodded slowly. “They patched me up,” she said in a hushed tone. “But they’re skimping on the painkillers.”

Remy looked to Tan who shrugged. “Well, she did still betray me. I’m not one to let that slide without a bit of punishment.”

“You know,” Remy said, eyeing the guard, “for a man who got rid of the crime families in this town, you sure do act like a crime boss.”

“When you go into a field and dig out the weeds, you can’t just get rid of the ho. Weeds will always be back.”

He stood back up and took the glass from the table.

“I have to say, Mr. LeBeau, you have brought me a lot of frustration in these recent days,” he said. “And most of it is from things you haven’t even done yet.”

“What, your god-like powers not enough to keep you happy?”

“Humans are not meant to have prescience. Our minds can’t quite comprehend it. My powers don’t allow me to see everything, but they do allow me to see some of the results of my actions.” Tan threw the glass against the wall. “I can tell you that one of my maids will clean that. You probably could have guessed but I can tell you that she will clean it at 11:36 a.m. and will cut her left index finger on a shard.”

He turned back to Remy.

“Which brings me to you. I could see everything I could possibly do to turn you off my path would lead to me. You’re a very stubborn, frustrating man.”

“S’what I hear,” he replied.

“But with every timeline that I’ve seen, there’s a hole when you and I finally meet and then there’s nothing. You are my blindspot.” His eyes became cold. “You kill me. And I can’t figure out how.”

Remy shrugged. “That ain’t me, homme. I’m just here to steal that remainin’ eye you stole offa Silver.”

“Is that who sent you, then?” he asked. “I figured she would send someone eventually.”

Remy nodded. “I get her eyes back, I getta keep mine.”

Tan lowered himself down onto his haunches. “Your eyes…” He took a closer look. “I thought they were a result of your mutation, but…no, there’s more going on there.” He stood back up as a woman entered with a new glass for him. “Regardless, it won’t matter. Even if you do make it out of here, I’m willing to bet that Silver won’t be too happy there’s only one eye.”

Remy shrugged. “Guess I’ll just have to gamble it.”

A dry chuckle arose from Tan.

“So, how you wanna do this?” Remy asked. “You gimme th’eye an’ I leave here with Daniels? Or do you want me to take it off you another way?”

“Actually,” he said, reaching into his jacket. He pulled out a pistol as well as a knife. The knife was short, with a wide, double-sided blade and a gilded handle crafted in the shape of a medieval turret. “I was going to give you the choice. Quick and painless or flashy and painful?”

Remy regarded the weapons, studying them with intent to not only buy time, but also to try and understand why he was giving him the choice. What was the catch?

“That the knife you used to take Silver’s eyes?” he asked.

Tan spun the blade in the palm of his hand. “How intuitive.”

“No doubt, you must’ve gotten it sometime durin’ yo’ travels abroad.”

Tan smiled. “From Baron Mordo himself.”

Remy knew the name--there were few in his line of work who didn't. “That who taught you all o’ this magic mumbo-jumbo?”

The smile widened. The man couldn’t help himself. “He thought my goals were too small. ‘Why bother with a stain on the Western Civilization like Atlantic City?,’ he asked me. ‘Because it’s my home,’ I said.”

“So, you kill some mobsters an’ then you get to turn your home into what you want it to be?” Remy said. “Only problem is, I don’ see much of a difference from how it was before. You jus’ created a vacuum an’ then filled it y’self.”

His smile faded. “Now, have you made your choice? Or do I need to choose for you?”

Remy nodded. “I made my choice a long time ago.”

There was the sound of a pop, followed by a quick succession of four more pops and Remy’s hands were free. He reached forward with his right hand and grabbed Tan by the lapel of his jacket, then grabbed the pistol with his left hand. He held the pistol to Tan’s stomach, the fingers of his left hand bloodied. He then dropped to the floor, his legs now free, and stood behind Tan, moving the gun to his neck.

“Did you know fake nails are acrylic?” Remy said. “With a little filin’ and some nail polish, they really do look like the real thing, neh?” Then the nails on his right hand began to glow. “Tell yo’ men to drop their guns.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You’re the fortune-teller,” Remy said, pressing the gun into his neck harder. “You tell me.”

Tan nodded. The guards lowered their weapons.

“Now, where’s the eye?” Remy asked.

“What makes you think I have it?” 

Remy pressed the gun into his neck even harder. “Seems to me that if you thought you were about to die by my hand, you would’ve brought the one thing you could bargain with.”

Tan nodded and reached for the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Don’ worry about it, homme,” Remy said. He thrust a small jar past his ear so he could see it in his peripheral vision. “Helped m’self. Figured the one you were about to feed me would be a decoy.”

The jar was nothing more than a small mason jar with a tin lid to keep it seemed shut. Inside, the eye, a black orb with a shimmering silver pupil, danced around in a dark amber liquid. Just by looking at it, Remy could tell it wasn’t just a piece of viscera, but something more.

Tan seemed unperturbed. “If you’re finished,” he said. “I can take you to a boat docked to this ship and you can head back to the mainland and we will never cross paths. Or I can call for a helicopter if you would rather.”

Remy smirked. “The boat’ll do jus’ fine.” He pointed to the woman who had brought Silver his drink. “You. Bring Daniels. Everyone else just stays here.”

They slowly backed out of the room and into the deck. Outside, the sun had begun to set, casting an explosion of orange-red in the sky. In the west, Remy could see the smallest hint of land in the horizon.

It was far, but if this boat had any kind of a decent engine, they should be back on land in no time. But that was if Tan hadn’t done something like rigged the boat with explosions or planned their exact course and sent another boat to intercept them later on. Remy shrugged off the thoughts. They were of no real help to him in the moment.

“Y’know, I’ve never had to take hostages on any other job,” Remy said. “On the other hand, I've never had to steal from someone like you.”

At the rear of the ship, they came to a motorboat that was hoisted up on a winch. The winch looked to have been a custom job, no doubt Tan’s doing.

Motioning to the winch, Remy said, “Alright, set ‘er down on the water. Then help Daniels into it.”

With a sigh, Tan walked over to the boat and slowly began to lower it. It dawned on Remy, then, that he’d never seen a man in such an expensive suit, doing manual labor like this. Usually, they would have someone lower on the totem pole for that.

But Tan had been the lowest of the low at one point in his life. And so had Remy. Both men knew what it meant to struggle and succeed. The only real difference between Remy and Tan was that Remy had some help along the way, whereas Tan had been fighting on his own.

As Tan helped Daniels into the boat, he helped his staff onto the deck. “Alright,” Tan said. “I believe this is where we part ways.”

“Almost,” a voice in the wind said. A door appeared between Tan and Remy. It didn’t belong there, just hanging in the air, but it felt as if it had always been there. It opened and out stepped Silver.

She was dressed in a grey vest and slacks, a black button-up rolled up to her forearms. As the last time, also wore a pair of round sunglasses over her missing eyes.

“Silver,” Tan said. He appeared calm, but his jaw was slightly clenched when he spoke that one word. Turning to the servant, he said to her, “Leave us.”

“Hello, Hector,” she said. “Been a long time. Seems like you’ve been putting my eyes to good use.”

Raising his hand, he shouted, “Relinquo.”

A breeze seemed to blow past Silver, who stood there with her hands behind her back as she let it. Tan’s eyes widened at that. “I’m sorry, Hector, but I’m not just going to let you use your parlor tricks to drive me away.”

Then, she brought her left hand forward and raised it to the sky, her palm up. The wood of the ship’s deck came alive, twisting around Tan’s legs, until it had his entire lower half encased in the wood.

“What do you want from me?” Tan asked. “I already gave your thief the remaining eye.”

“I came for you,” Silver said. Her usual cool demeanor had changed to something darker.

“So, you were my blind spot,” Tan said.

“And you mine,” she said. “I couldn’t see how you were using my eyes anymore than you could use them to see how I could affect your future.”

Remy stood there, the gun lowered to the floor. “So, you jus’ used me to find him?”

Silver’s head swayed from side to side, as if thinking of how to say what she would say next. “Not exactly, Remy. I still want your eyes. But I did need you to route out Hector for me.”

“Well,” Tan said. “What now?”

A scream reverberated through the air from the main deck, followed by hard thumps as bodies fell to the floor.

“My men?” Tan said. Silver nodded. “Am I supposed to beg for my life?”

Silver smiled. “Your life? No. Your soul, however…”

“Silver,” Remy said. “I’ve got—”

The demon put up her hand and he fell silent, not because he was scared of the consequences of if he kept talking but because he felt physically compelled to.

Silver stepped closer to Tan. “A century ago, I would have concocted all kinds of unpleasant ways to kill you: fill your innards with beetles and have them eat their way out of you, make you experience the Plague through every one of its victims, have you hunted by a hellhounds through a field of thorns and salt. But I’ve since matured. Instead, I’m just going to have you watch all of the people you care about burn.”

Tan began to sink into the wood, as if it had turned to quicksand. He said nothing, but there was fear in his eyes. 

In the last moments that his head was still above the floor, Silver said, “And then you will burn, too.”

And he was gone.

For a moment, there was peace as Silver looked out to the horizon, where the sun was beginning to set. The wind swept through her hair and she took it in in one deep breath. Then she turned back to Remy.

“Oh, Gambit,” she said, eyeing his lower half. “You really just can’t keep your pants on can you.” She flicked her wrist and suddenly Remy was wearing a pair of black jeans. “Now,” she said. “About those eyes.”

Remy held the jar up. “I got this one. One’s better’n none, no?”

Silver frowned. “I’m sorry, but that wasn’t the deal. I need two eyes. If you fail to provide me with both of mine, then I get yours.”

“You can’t just magic up another?”

“Those eyes are very different from a pair of jeans,” she said. “I didn’t make them. They were made for me.”

Remy thought for a moment. He hadn’t come this far, putting Daniels’s life in danger, just to lose his eyes now. “What if I know someone who can create another eye based on this one?”

Raising a brow, Silver nodded. “Do you really know someone who could do that?”

Remy sighed. “Unfortunately.”

#

Daniels was slowly drifting into unconsciousness when Remy stepped from the ship to the motorboat. He leaned down and gently prodded her shoulder.

“Hey,” he said. “Don’ go fallin’ asleep on me yet.”

As her eyes readjusted, Daniels looked to Remy’s legs. “Where’d you get the pants?”

“Silver.”

Remy stood and went over to the motor. He flipped the gas on and pulled the ripcord twice until the engine rumbled to life.

“What happened?”

“Silver," he repeated. "And she took Tan.”

“What’s she going to do with him?”

Remy shook his head, looking to the horizon. “You don’ wanna know, chere.”

“They’ll pin it on you,” she said.

Remy nodded. “Mos’ likely.”

The ocean was riled up, as if excited from the happenings on the ship, so Remy had to take it slowly so as not to cause Daniels any unnecessary pain. 

“How’d you get into this mess in the first place?” Daniels asked.

Remy’s eyes widened, the red pupils glowing slightly. “How much blood’d you lose?”

“You told me about the bender,” she said. “But what led to the bender? Why’d you leave the X-Men?”

He let out a groan and shook his head. “‘Bout a month ago, we got word from a source that there was some human traffickin’ goin’ on in Madripoor—big surprise, there. You could throw a rock down main street there and hit four criminals, three of which are probably tied to traffickin’ somehow.”

“Anyways, the person we were looking for was apparently a mutant, so Cyke—that’s Cyclops—got it in his head that we needed to make that our priority. Well, I was sent to do some recon in Madripoor and after a few days, I started pickin’ up on a pattern: it was mostly kids around the age of 11 or 12 and they were being taken offa the streets or from orphanages. Well, it wasn’t just the age that mattered, though. It was what stage of life they were in.”

“Puberty,” Daniels added.

Remy nodded. “Whoever’d done this was kidnapping kids about to hit puberty. Now, I don’ know if you are familiar with mutant biology, but it’s usually around puberty that mutant powers start to manifest. Not always, but most of the time.” 

“Anyways, I finally keyed in on a group of kids livin’ on the streets. They tell me that someone who goes by ‘Bluebird’ has been payin’ them for info on different kids. I relay this info to El Capitan and he says he’ll bring the X-Men to come take care of business.”

Daniels listened, now completely awake. “What about the kids Bluebird was paying?”

“I had them schedule a meeting with Bluebird for me and then paid them a wad of cash to get out of Madripoor.” Remy’s mouth raised in a half-smile. “They probably just used it for drugs, but at least I tried.”

“Well, the night comes when I meet Bluebird. We had it arranged so we would meet one the train around 8:45. I hopped on the third car and waited on the seat underneath the Zilla-Cola poster, as instructed. After two stops, Bluebird would arrive and then the X-Men would be waiting on the third stop. After two stops, a person in a hoodie and a pair of sunglasses stepped on and greeted me. And who should I see underneath that hood but my own cousin?”

“The hell?” Daniels said.

“That was my reaction,” Remy replied. “I ask him what he’s doing. I hadn’t seen him for a month or so, but I didn’ think it was possible that he’d somehow gotten into a life of human trafficking. He told me he ‘fell in with a bad crowd’ but that he truly believed he was helpin’ these kids. I had one stop to make a decision: turn him in or help him escape.”

“I take it you helped him escape,” Daniels said.

Remy bit his lip. “Not exactly. I told him to wait on the next car and then I would talk with him and we’d figure this out. So, he did. And when I saw the team, I told ‘em Bluebird never arrived. When I went to check on my cousin, though, he was gone.” 

He paused, taking a deep breath before finishing the story.

“Two days later, Colossus catches Bluebird, except this time Bluebird was a 6’1 Russian man named Mikhail. That’s Colossus’s brother. Colossus didn’ have the empathy for his brother that I did for my cousin, so he brought him in and it was soon revealed that Bluebird was a shape-shifting mutant known as Mystique.”

“So, I'm guessing Mystique ratted you out?”

“Oh yeah,” Remy said. “She never liked me. I was datin’ her daughter at the time, but we split after that. Then, the rest of the team kinda turned their backs on me. They never really formally kicked me outta the club, but the writin’ was on the walls.”

They rode in silence as the Atlantic City grew closer and closer. The sun had set and the city began to light up, the boardwalk a galaxy of multicolored stars and signs. The temperature had fallen as well, but even without a shirt, Remy didn’t feel cold.

With a sigh, Remy said, “You know, I coulda jus’ called my family back in N’Orleans and made sure, but I had maybe five minutes to make a decision.”

“You could have also just trusted your team,” Daniels said.

Remy turned to her, his eyes narrowed. “Whose side you on?”

“Well, it sounds like you don’t trust them and they don’t trust you,” Daniels said. “Especially that ex of yours.”

“None of ‘em ever really trusted me,” Remy said. “Don’ even get me started on Antarctica.”

“You really do make the rounds, huh?” Daniels asked.

“You don’ know that half of it.”

#

By the time they’d made it back, they saw police boats and helicopters riding out to Tan’s ship. They docked at a nearby marina where there wasn’t any activity and Remy tied it off to one of the dock’s pillars.

Next, Remy found a car nearby and jimmied the lock while Daniels looked away. Inside he found a windbreaker crumpled on the floor and put it on. Then he broke the casing around the steering wheel and hot-wired the car, his fingers still bloodied and a couple missing nails.

“Well, this is where we part ways,” Remy said. “You sure you’re okay? I can make a stop at the hospital on my way outta town.”

“I don’t think anyone will believe that my kidnapper went to the trouble to drive me—into the city, mind you—to the hospital. But thanks.”

Remy nodded.

“What about you?” she asked. “What will you do now?”

Pulling out the jar from his pocket, Remy shook it gently, making the eye dance around in the liquid. “Gotta get this to an...acquaintance who can make a duplicate. Then I don’ know. Hope that helps and then fix my life from there.”

“Maybe you should call your ex,” Daniels said. “You know, get ahead of the news before you’re named a suspect in all of this, which you most certainly will be.”

Remy chuckled. “Yeah. Somehow, I don’ think that’ll help.” With one deep breath, he pulled himself out of the car. “Well, at least yo’ beau will be happy to hear you’re safe. I’m sure he’s worried sick.”

Daniels looked to the ground, kicking a rock across the lot. “Yeah, about that. My husband actually died last year. He was in a car accident.”

“Merde,” Remy said. 

“He was t-boned at an intersection. A hit-and-run. I knew it was somehow tied to Tan but couldn’t figure out how. I guess he ‘saw’ that I would want a closer look at his business, which would lead me to you.”

“Daniels...I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“Yeah, I guess I have a good poker face.” She winced from the pain of the wound. “But hearing that Tan is going to be rotting somewhere worse than jail is justice in a way.”

“Well, I hope you don’ do the dumb thing an’ try to defend me when your co-workers start askin’ questions,” Remy said.

“I’ll tell them you were behind the whole thing. Hell, I’ll even say you kidnapped me,” Daniels said with a pained smile. “I gotta save my job somehow.”

Remy smiled back. “Hey, worse things’ve been said about me.”

The two said their goodbyes then. It was strange. Neither knew of the other 48 hours ago and even now, having been through so much, they still only had snapshots of each others’ lives. But it didn’t make their goodbye any less bittersweet. They didn’t know it at the time, but they entered and exited each others’ plays they knew as life at the exact moments that the director called for.

Hours later, after the police had arrived and taken Daniels’s statement, after she had gone to the hospital to get her wound cleaned and re-bandaged, after she had gone home and cried in the shower, she said a few short words to a picture of her husband she kept on her nightstand.

Then she made a call.

#

Epilogue 1

Rogue’s hands ached. Her knuckles were cracked from punching a series of hard-light constructs in the form of Sentinels and the sweat that dripped down into the cracks burned. She wiped them on her pants, grimacing from the pain, when she heard the door swish open.

Psylocke stood in the doorway, her hair pulled back and wearing tights. “Those robots aren’t even real and I still somewhat pity them.”

“They’re lucky,” Rogue said. “Ah was just about to start up another round.”

Psylocke walked over to her. “Something on your mind, Rogue?”

She shook her head. “Nothin’ worth gettin’ into now. Maybe after a shower.”

Her teammate smiled, her bright, beautiful smile and nodded. “Well, if you do need to talk…”

Without another word, Rogue nodded and left the woman to do her exercises while she went for the showers. As she opened the door to the locker room, she realized she hadn’t brought a change of clothes.

“Dammit,” she said, smacking herself in the forehead. The last time she’d gone upstairs to her room to shower after a workout, Bobby saw her and asked if she had the flu. Ever since then, she showered down here and brought a change of clothes.

Swallowing her pride, she quickly made her way up the elevator, past the empty dining room, and through the entryway, headed for the stairs.

As she was about to place her foot on the first step, however, the phone rang to life. It sat on an end table near the entrance next to an address book and memo pad. Rogue once asked why they still had a landline in the age of cell phones and Logan just shrugged.

“Chuck’s old-fashioned like that,” he said. “Personally, I like it. I don’t need something tracking my every move.”

It almost never rang, but when it did, everyone knew it was important. So, she stopped at the foot of the stairway when she heard it peel through the air, and answered it.

“Xavier’s School for gifted kids or whatever,” she said. 

“Hi,” a woman’s voice said on the other line. “Is this...uh, one of the X-Men?”

“Maybe.” Rogue lowered her voice. “Who am Ah speaking with?”

“My name’s Daniels. I’m a friend of Remy LeBeau’s.”

All of the air in the room was sucked away.

“How did you get this number?” Rogue asked.

“I’ve got a friend who’s a Fed that passed it along to me,” Daniels said. “Listen, I don’t have much time. Remy needs you. He wouldn’t admit it, because he’s such an ass, but he’s in it deep with some scary people.”

Sounds like Remy, she thought to herself. Trouble?”

“He’s being accused of some pretty terrible stuff,” the woman said. “In actuality, he just owes a debt that I don’t think he can pay off.”

The woman proceeded to recount her story with Remy and how he’d tried to do the impossible and steal from someone who could see his every move. How he’d stayed behind when she fell. And how a demon killed their captors.

“And the eye?” Rogue asked, when she’d finished.

“He said he knew someone who could create a duplicate, whatever that means. He made sure to emphasize he was nothing more than an ‘acquaintance’.”

“Oh, Lord,” Rogue said. “He’s goin’ after Sinister.”

#

Epilogue 2

“I’m not gonna tell you again,” Marco shouted into the phone, “I don’t care if Spider-Man made the pizza himself before he ate it, the box is worthless to me without verification that he touched it. Ver-i-fi-cation. Do you want me to spell it out for you?”

“Uncle,” a voice came from the door. It was Marco’s nephew, his eyes wide and urgent. “The police. They’re outside.”

“Let me call you back,” Marco said. “Scratch that, you call me back when you actually have something that interests me.” 

And he dropped the phone onto the reciever. Following his nephew out of his office, he found a pair of officers standing outside of the counter. They were plain-clothes, but had their badges clipped to their hips next to their guns.

Tucking in his shirt, Marco put on his widest smile. “What can I do for you officers?”

“Are you Marco Ruiz?” one asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“The owner of a brown, 1984 El Camino?”

Marco sighed. “Unfortunately.”

“My name is Detective Wells and this is my partner Bester." The other detective nodded, distracted. "Your car was found in Atlantic City. Apparently, it was in the possession of a Remy LeBeau. Mr. LeBeau is currently a suspect in the murder of ten individuals.”

What did that Cajun do this time? Marco thought to himself. “Never heard of him. To be honest, I didn’t even realize the car was missing.” He laughed. “Being in the city, it’s just as easy to take the bus or train.”

“You’re not under arrest,” the officer said. “But we do have some questions for you.”

“Maybe we can give you a ride back to your car,” the other said. “And you can answer some questions for us.”

With a superhuman amount of will, Marco kept his smile. “Love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking a small break from this series for a week or two. I'm currently writing chapter 12 and another story thread came unraveled, so I need to see where that goes.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


End file.
